Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
I give her a light kiss and have to force myself not to take it further, then I walk her out to the chopper. Miller, my agent’s favorite pilot, gives us a nod. I help Harper up into the cabin, which smells like money and antiseptic. Then I climb in right next to her. The second I strap in, we’re shoulder to shoulder, and suddenly it’s way more intimate than I’d imagined when I booked it.
I notice her fumbling with the headset, so I jump in. “Need a hand with that?” Not waiting, just doing it, letting my fingers brush her neck as I slip the headphones into place. She shivers, just a little, but it’s enough to make my blood move.
“I’m fine,” she says, not moving away. Eyes locked on mine. For one split second, I wonder if she sees how hard I’m fighting for this, for her, and if she knows why. I don’t have anything clever to say, so I just tighten her headset and get myself buckled in.
The lift is smooth. Heart-in-your-throat, gravity-flipping, and then suddenly the world drops out and we’re over the city. Seattle opens up below us like a grid of gold and white against the dark, the Space Needle stabbing into the sky, and all of it reflected in the water. I don’t look at the city. I watch Harper taking it in, her face lit by the city’s glow and her eyes sharp, taking in every detail.
“It’s beautiful,” she says through the comm, her voice echoing in my ear. “I can’t believe the view from up here.”
“Me neither,” I say, but I don’t mean the view outside the helicopter. We ride north, the city shrinking behind us, replaced by pitch-black water and forests. The resort at Alderbrook glows like an island of warmth, tucked up against the shoreline. Miller sets us down on the private pad, dead smooth, exactly like he promised. The whump of the rotors fades, and suddenly, I can hear the silence of the peninsula. It’s almost jarring.
The air here is sharper, smelling of salt and damp cedar. I lead Harper down a winding stone path toward the restaurant, where I’ve reserved a table on the far edge of the deck, shielded by a glass windbreak and a roaring stone fireplace. The staff is discreet, treating us like any other couple, which is the greatest luxury I can offer her right now.
"You’re staring again," Harper says after the waiter departs with our drink orders. She’s tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, her emerald earrings catching the light of the fire.
"I’m assessing," I counter, leaning back in the heavy wooden chair. "I spent twenty minutes at the rink today trying to remember the exact shade of your eyes. I settled on 'storm-cloud gray,' but I see now I was wrong. They’re more like the Sound just before a squall."
She lets out a soft, melodic laugh that makes the tension in my shoulders finally dissolve. "You’re a poet, Thorne? Who would have guessed, beneath all that athleticism lives a man who compares eyes to weather patterns?"
"I never did this shit before I met you," I say, taking a sip of the water the waiter placed on the table.
“Oh.” She bites her bottom lip and glances around the restaurant deck.
"I spend sixty minutes a night reading body language. The tilt of a shoulder, the way a player grips his stick, the focus in their eyes. It’s survival on the ice, but it’s a hard habit to break at the dinner table."
"And what is my body language telling you right now?" she asks, leaning forward, her chin resting on her hand. The movement brings her closer, the scent of her perfume, something like vanilla and rain, drifting across the table.
I look at her, really look at her, letting the silence stretch between us. "It tells me you’re trying very hard to remember your 'no-athlete' rule. It tells me you’re wondering how you’re going to tell your brother you’re dating me. And it tells me that despite all that, you’re glad you got on that helicopter."
Her smile falters just enough to tell me I’ve hit the mark. "Ryan is… he’s protective. You know that. He’s seen what this life does to people. He’s seen the girls who come and go, the way players treat relationships like something expendable. He doesn't want that for me."
"I don't want that for you either," I say, my voice cracking with a sudden, sharp honesty. I reach across the table, my hand covering hers. Her skin is warm, a stark contrast to the cool night air. "Harper, I know who I am in the papers. I know what your brother thinks of me. But I haven't had a 'regular' life since I was eighteen years old, not even before then. Everything has been a transaction. Everything has been about the game." I trace the line of her thumb with my own, watching the way her pulse flutters at her wrist. "When I saw you at that gala, it was the first time in years I felt like I was looking at something real. Something I want more than I want my next breath.”